Irene clutched the picture of her and Ela tightly, a storm of regret swirling in her chest. "Dumb, such a fool," she muttered under her breath, blaming herself for the predicament Ela found herself in. With a frustrated sigh, she gently placed the photo inside a book for safekeeping, hitting her head lightly in a gesture of self-reproach. "Please, let her not be in too much trouble," she whispered, hoping against hope.
Pulling herself together and with a deep breath, Irene made her way to the dining room, where her parents, Olivia and Christopher, sat waiting. The air was heavy, brimming with tension. Dinner proceeded in an uncomfortable silence, with Irene half expecting a reprimand to break the quiet at any moment. She barely tasted her food, her thoughts consumed with the recent events and their repercussions. Eager to escape the oppressive atmosphere, she hurried through her meal.
As soon as she stood up, her father's voice stopped her. "Sit down, Irene."
Brushing off his request, she replied, "I'm done. Just heading to my room."
His voice grew stern, "I said, sit down."
With an anxious smile, she resumed her seat, sensing the gravity of what was to come. Her father, Christopher, fixed her with a look that brooked no argument. "Lady Adelia sent us a message through the echo stone. You're aware of what it's about, I presume?"
Trying to deflect, Irene responded, "Adelia's just overreacting. We did nothing wrong. No one's hurt."
Christopher's voice was tight with barely controlled anger. "I don't care if anyone was hurt or not. I trusted you to maintain a good relationship with Ela. It's crucial for getting closer to her parents, considering their status."
Irene's frustration boiled over. "Everything I did was for Ela, not for your pathetic need to cling to power through her parents!"
Olivia interjected, her voice calm but firm. "Irene, watch your tone with your father. And this isn't just about power plays. There are bigger things at stake here than you might realize."
Irene scoffed, her eyes narrowing. "Then enlighten me, I would love to know what these 'bigger things' are besides using me to get closer to the Duke and Duchess."
Christopher clenched his fist, biting his lip as he tried to keep his composure and not harm his daughter. "Without their support, we might lose everything since we're only Barons thanks to them. You better hope that this does not affect our rank."
Irene slammed her fist on the table, throwing her full weight against it. "You're nothing but a coward and a parasite, Father!" she spat, her voice dripping with disdain.
But Christopher's patience had run out. Slamming his hand on the table, he commanded, "Go to your room. Now!"
Without another word, Irene stood and left the room, angry at her parents and disappointed in them. As she walked to her room, she couldn't care less about what her parents thought of her or the problems she might have caused them. In her mind, she did nothing wrong, and her parents were just overreacting. Her only worry was for Ela, whose troubles seemed far greater than her own.
after 1 week
Her room seemed like an overview of a small jungle; there were pots and plants, and from every window, the leaves reached out for sunshine. Irene moved from one green friend to another, watering them and muttering to herself.
She was taken by surprise when the door creaked and almost upset a pot. She, however, quickly regained her composure, pretending to be very interested in the arrangement of the plants now that she had entered, with a flush of embarrassment.
"Hey, Mum," she said with a casual air, briskly wiping her hands on her apron.
Her face softened as she drew closer. "Irene, honey, time for your lesson," she said, her voice somehow soft yet authoritative at the same time. "Hurry up, I've got to deal with some fancy kid after you."
"Got it, Mum. I'm on my way," answered Irene, but her thoughts were already racking up on just how to manage fitting all this into her afternoon.
As Olivia turned to go, she paused and looked over the expanse of the wild creeping along the wall. "Oh, and Irene," she added to her retreating back, desperation just short of coming out through her voice, "can you maybe sort out these vines? They're starting to take over the house."
Irene stole a look toward the encroaching greenery—maybe even with a twinkle in her eye. "Sure, Mum. I'll see what I can do," she said, and both of them knew well that her heart was much more in the chaos of nature than in containing it.
Irene cast one last, long, satisfied look over her plants and then turned to the vine her mother had pointed out to her, casting a mixed look of reluctance and determination on the vine. "i'm very sorry about this," she whispered with a lot of regret to the vine. "But I assure you that you're being taken to a better place. Don't be mad at me, please."
She paused, waiting for a sign, a feeling—anything to indicate that the vine was ready for the move. A moment later, a faint stirring in the air whispered to her it was time. Irene began to free the vine from the wall,Diligently; her fingers worked carefully not to break the tender stems.
Spoken Reassurance in a soft manner as she coiled the vine around her arm, speaking to it softly with words of reassurance, "You're going to love your new home. Lots of sunlight, plenty of room to grow," she said into the tendrils, feeling them relax into her hold, trusting her.
As Irene walked down the garden, she felt her mother behind her all the time but she never looked back. Outside, she found the exact spot on the wall where the vine would be happy. She gently uncoiled it from around her arm, taking great care to arrange it securely and happily in its new home.
Olivia watched through it all, her silent amazement. Not for the first time, she saw her daughter's extraordinary connection with plants; yet, each time she watched, it never failed to make her marvel. Irene's sigil glowed softly, ensuring with her magic the health and vigour of the vine.
"There," Irene said, stepping back to admire her work. "You'll be much happier here, I promise."
She made a shy smile at her mother and braced herself for some comment about the inconvenience. Olivia merely remarked, "Let's not waste any more time then,."
"So, have you looked at the scroll I gave to you?" Olivia asked gently but firmly, tipping off that she expected to have made every effort.
Caught slightly off guard, Irene fumbled for a moment before replying.
"Ah, well, about that," she laughed nervously, watching the ceiling for anything interesting. "I might have.skipped it. Thought I might practice a bit on my own instead," she confessed, and her voice bore a sparkle of hope—a hope that her light-hearted way of saying things might somehow cushion the disappointment.
Olivia sighed, and in it, it seemed like a sigh of disappointment and understanding. "Whatever," she waived my last argument off. "Before we really start, I will have to tell you one thing." Olivia grew more serious, and her attitude even somewhat focused. She extended her hand, palm up, and a soft, ethereal glow emanated from it—a sign of her activating her own sigil. "I shall use a bit of my own magic to keep your mana output under close scrutiny while the test is conducted. It's important to understand not only the extent but the nature of your power." She said that, and in her eyes about the examination, there was earnest reflection of the serious importance. "This way, we can ensure we're not just guessing about your capabilities."
"now before we start the test, you have to understand that you can't keep your sigil on a whim anymore and you must stop, especially when tired. and this test is so we know your limits." It outlined an experiment that would drive Irene to the very limit, a simple yet profound task: to plant a seed, and she was supposed to grow it into development with her sigil.
The objective was to gauge Irene's mana output by encouraging her to focus intensely, even to the point of exhaustion.
Irene had to slowly nod her head, submitting. Olivia stepped back, leaving Irene to contemplate the thought and prepare for action.
She turned, stern of face, hand high, and eyes closed. Long minutes they stood so, while the very air about them seemed to rustle against the sound of leaves or the beat of their breathing. Then, slowly, the seed began to respond. It was an homage to Irene's powerful will.
She began to feel her chest tighten with an effort that grew heavier and heavier as the process dragged on, quite literally, the grip of the tension which was taking out the full power of her efforts. "Mom, can I stop?" she panted.
"Not yet," Olivia urged, her voice a mix of encouragement and firmness. "Only when you truly can't continue."
When determination was mixed with the failure to work, Irene moved on. Finally, the seed sprung into a small, strong tree. Overcome by the exertion, Irene fell to her knees, panting heavily.
Looking up at her mother, a mix of pride and exhaustion in her eyes, she managed to ask, "How did I do?" Olivia's face split into a beaming smile of real pride. "Good on you, Irene. You are within the exceptional minority with high mana capacity. That makes you special," she praised, and her voice was warm with admiration. She encouraged Irene to sit, and then sat with her on the grass, moving her hand in its gentle caress over her daughter's head. A moment of quiet triumph for her: a tribute to the strength and potential lying within Irene, carefully guided and greatly encouraged by her mother's love.
They sat by each other on the soft grass while enjoying the peace of the garden. Suddenly, Irene noticed two figures approaching the gate. One man was an adult, of course, as he looked quite tall and impressive, and The hardly fourteen-year-old young boy—well, that was on the surface—bore an unmistakable air of privilege and pomposity. His clothes looked too expensive for his age, and he swayed around with a touch of arrogance that was given more than a hint towards his well-off origin. His erect and inflexible stance, with an ungodly curl of the lips and a slight movement of his head, suggested a world in which his whims were orders and everything must be subject to his service. But in his youth, this gaze was seasoned with a kind of haughty condescension—the reflection of a life cushioned by wealth and the expectation of servility. To use the strongest and most advanced
"That will be the posh kid and his father," Olivia muttered and got up to go meet them. She walked away through the gate and left Irene sprawling on the grass, watching from a distance.
Olivia gave a few last words with the boy's father as the man gave his son a gentle nudge, pointing Irene out quietly to the young boy. A pointed look from Olivia made the boy catch his attention where Irene had lain on the grass, evidently pointed out by the adults as the very next point of his social intercourse. Irene took a deep sigh, bracing herself. The boy was coming; she could even hear how her peace was shattering. The boy was treading with confidence; he used to be in the spotlight. He perfectly negotiated the relief of the garden under his steps. His manner was such as a creeping tide—unbending and with a certain invasiveness—lessening the distance between them with a confidence that only those born with an easiness around privilege seem to possess.
The boy stopped in front of her expectantly, dressed in clothing far too sumptuous for a mere visit to the garden. "Good afternoon. I'm Leo," he introduced himself with a tone that dripped with such formality as though they were in a business meeting.
Irene remained lying on the grass, watching him with an indulgent and annoyed look, replying shortly, "I am not your baby sitter, wait for your teacher somewhere else and don't bother me.
Leo chuckled, but it was real chuckling, as if he himself found the whole situation utterly absurd. "You are very rude," he said, a smile still on his face. "Nobody ever talked to me like that."
"Good for you. Now please go," Irene replied, uninterested in prolonging the conversation.
Leo was not exactly taken aback; he plopped to the grass nearby. "Stay here, I was told, and here I shall stay," he repeated Irene's lack of care with stoic nonchalance.
She turned away from him and looked back towards Olivia's father and Leo, curious what they were talking about. She leaned a little in the direction of Leo and asked, "What are they talking about?" Leo shrugged, deflecting his attention towards the adults. "Somethin' 'bout Adelia Grace, but I never caught the full runnin's," he confessed, the way he did it betraying that he was just as clueless as she was.
Irene's interest was immediately called to order when she heard that talk about Adelia. Leo did not spare, and he was quick to comment on the sudden widening of her eyes.
"You're really curious about what they're discussing, aren't you?" he inquired, a slight tease in his voice.
"Are you not?" Irene shot back, her gaze still fixed on the adults.
Leo just gave an apathetic shrug. "I don't know this Adelia, and to be honest, I really don't care. But I wouldn't mind figuring out just what is so interesting," he admitted with some reluctance, now a little interested himself in why Irene would find this fact so intriguing. Continuing, Irene cast a cursory look at the flora next to her and beheld a very bright bush of flowers. "I need a volunteer for the mission," she told the plants, giggling but stubborn.
Almost immediately, a tulip seemed to respond, a gentle sway in the breeze serving as its signal.
"Thanks," Irene said through her teeth as she prepared the tulip in its pot of soil. Leo looked at her perplexed, with a mixture of wonderment on his face.
She put the flower together with the soil in his hand and said, "Put this in your pocket, come up to our parents, and throw it somewhere close to them."
That made Leo even more confused, but by some strange way, this eager adult company and their weird request actually intrigued him, so he agreed. He was going to throw away the flower and said impatiently, "When are we starting? We are wasting time here," and threw the flower beside the wall of the gate.
"His father had patience for this, and Olivia suggested that he go play with Irene a bit more. Now, as Leo turned back to Irene, he recounted his success, curiosity welling up in him. Done. Now, why did we do that?"
"I can hear through plants; it's my sigil," Irene somehow explained to him, sharing that she was the owner of a superpower with a hint of proud secretiveness.
Leo's eyes were genuinely widened in amazement. "Wow! That's pretty cool!" he exclaimed, all previous reserve washed aside. "I'm close to unsealing my sigil too!" he reported, listening excitedly as the other druid gave his detailed account of the experience with his magic. In the meantime, Irene first sort of kept an ear and gradually tuned him out, shifting her focus back to Olivia and Leo's father. Leo's voice became a distant hum as she concentrated on picking up snippets of their conversation through the tulip's presence. Irene's mind was everywhere but on Leo's incessant babble—for every bit of sense that might yield some clue, relating to Adelia's talk. An odd alliance, indeed: Irene kept up with the burble of her curiosity, while Leo began to pick up an interest in the practical use of magical sigils.
When Olivia finished her coversation with Leo's father and left him, her face apparently hardened and became a little cooler between her eyebrows. She told Irene and Leo with great gravity: "Leo, please come with me to the study hall," she instructed, her tone leaving no room for objection.
Leo nodded and moved a bit unwillingly. Before he left, he leaned with Irene and whispered to her in a low voice, "You will tell me everything later, yeah?"
Irene barely shooed him with the hide of irritation in her voice, saying, "Sure, yes. Now go," when he said anything, wanting him and the conversation to get away from her, of course.
When they were gone, Irene did not tarry. She darted up to the tulip with her heart all that beat from expectation and fear of what it could be. "What are they talking about?" she cried, her voice a mixture of fear and hope.
Giving its version of what it overheard, the tulip did its bit in snatches of conversations: not a picture of strategic discussion or magic secrets but a piece of grave news spreading like fire—that of Adelia's death and murder and Chris being named as the killer.
Disbelief swallowed up Irene's first shock: "You must be joking," she burst out, wishing the idea wouldn't sound so totally absurd but could be just a mistake—some tulip error.
But the tulip, which stood with a silent message, spoke only the true words: Irene, at once overwhelmed, dashed from a gush of guilt to think of her friend. "Ela," she whispered and suddenly realized. With a heavy heart, she thanked the tulip for its service, carefully picking it up and placing it back in its spot. As she did so, her mind raced with concerns for Ela, the implications of the news, and what it meant for their futures. This place that was once silent in the seat of peace and learning was now peculiarly still, only that one could almost feel the news from the tulips hanging in the air.
